Old Friend
by MadiYasha
Summary: "Legend says that an ancient voice resonates inside it. Can you hear it yet... hero?" / A retelling of memory 17 & the drawing of the master sword.


Cold.

She was so, so cold. Everything around her was so, so cold.

The rain washing away any warmth her tears had brought her, the mud caked across her tattered form, and _him_. Goddess, no, _anything but him_.

Zelda held her knight's head in her shaking hands, previously so warm from divine light as it seared through the darkness—now, she was freezing. His breathing stilled, and she could feel the warmth leaving him. His fading blue eyes bore into her, carving their wounds right into her heart. The heaviness sat on top of her, her jaw stung and her body gave in and she let out an unrelenting sob.

She was so, so very tired. The princess couldn't remember a single day in her life where she had ever rested. A childhood torn from her, a mother's touch yanked from her hands, a father wrought with disappointment where pride could have been—had she only been someone else—a kingdom of resentment who looked at her with dark eyes for things she bled herself dry trying to fix. Moments before, possessed by the ghost of hope, she felt full of promise, brimming with drive and love and protection.

Link was completely limp in her arms. She was empty. She buried her head into his unmoving chest and gave in.

Zelda had never given up on anything, through nearly two long decades of life.

She'd had enough. All she wanted now was to finally rest.

 _Pitiful, is it not?_ Her thoughts swam as her tears petered out. _I never even got to tell him I was in love with him._

The carnage around them was too quiet. The world was ending, yet no screams rang out, no guardians clanked around. There was silence, except for the drolling patter of rainfall.

 _Let historians who find our shadows hand in hand tell the story themselves._

The frigid air seeped into her bones. Even in death, Link was valliant, and she was a failure. Some things never changed. She only wished some of his courage could have rubbed off on her before it was too late.

"Your Grace…"

A voice like blinding moonlight swatted away the darkness of her mind. Now she was _hearing things_. _Typical._

"Your Grace… you must hurry. Please compose yourself. Succumbing to shock could render you incapable of saving him."

The words materialized in her head, a calculating chime soaked in Hylian so ancient she was surprised she could comprehend it. _Have I lost it…?_

"The sword…" She whispered, voice barely there.

Zelda had heard tales long passed of a voice resonating from inside the blade of evil's bane, a voice that itched the heroes over the years forward. A voice so dear to the original hero that there were well-documented cases of him leaving offerings to the sword, speaking to it for hours, oftentimes falling asleep at its pedestal.

But that voice was for the hero to hear. Him and him alone. No matter how much she begged and pleaded silently in her mind, she was not the hero. The sword had not chosen her. And yet…

"I can sense that Master Link is in critical condition, Your Grace. If he is not brought to the Shrine of Resurrection in due time, his spirit will perish."

Zelda's eyes widened. Why could she hear the sword's voice? Why now? Why did so many people have to suffer for the promise of triumph to reveal itself?

The sword was right, regardless. Questions had no power here. Zelda had been inquiring all her life, logically pulling apart every obstacle she could find. If she wanted to save Link, she was going to have to think like him. Unquestioning, unwavering, headfirst. Confident, brave, and without worry. The reckless courage she had often scolded, so consistently bringing him to the very precipice of death. This time she wanted to see it bring him back.

She inhaled. Minimal questions. "...so he can still be saved…?

* * *

Warmth.

He was told he would be facing death were he to draw the sword. Told that the life would be slowly sapped out of him until he was nothing.

The blade burned evil, seared away malice, even tinged the pure of heart with its divine light. But on the wind, whistling through the trees, Link felt something more. Visions, dreams, memories of distant lives. People he didn't know. Their hands, his hands. Their sword, his sword. Unlike the memories he'd retrieved across his journey. Different ones. Ones he felt a stranger in.

But the sword was always there, her—her?—warmth radiating up their arm. Sometimes their right, usually their left. Not burning. Comforting. Cutting through the fog in his mind, cutting through the will to give up, cutting through the darkness of the hero's journey.

He'd been told the legends, of course. The spirit of the hero breathes new life time and time again. And the sword is bound to the soul of the hero. Such is fate. But he didn't remember it being this intense before—didn't remember the outpouring of emotion. It wasn't the divinity dancing around the blade that he assumed would kill him—no, it was the emotion of a thousand distant past lives being poured into him all at once.

He felt what they felt. It was _excruciating_.

His breathing sharp, he focused his mind on the warmth once more. Steady on his feet. Accepting a thousand lives, a thousand deaths. So loud. So overwhelming. He never liked noise. At some point, it all turned white.

His name. A thousand times. Link, Link, Link. A thousand brilliant flashes of green and gold, juxtaposed against the sword's blinding aura. A thousand princesses, all named Zelda. The same dark cloud of evil as it dissipated in a sickening explosion.

Louder, louder, _ear-piercing—_

Silence.

It hit him like a deadly blow, and he realized he'd been holding his breath. He took in a gasp of the forest air, eyes snapping open as the sword loosened entirely from the pedestal in his hands.

Link's heart spilled over.

The words stuck on his tongue, and he questioned if they were his own. They hung there, but he did not say them.

 _My most loyal friend,_ he felt them resonate. _How dearly I missed you._

How does an amnesiac cry from a nostalgia he does not comprehend? Hyrule's own hero could count you the ways, were his voice not used so sparingly. He did not let the tears fall, this time. But their presence was there, unmistakable.

Link bowed his head reverently, forehead inches away from the blade's face. Eyes shutting again, he swore he felt something fluttering softly around his shoulders. Embracing him.

When the Deku Tree had finished speaking his wisdom, Link turned to exit the forest, intending to make his way out the long road and hit a shrine on the northern path. He bid his farewells to the forest children, accepted one of Hestu's world-famous bear hugs, and carried himself forward.

The hero nearly thought it was a trick of the labyrinth when he heard a soft melody dance across his head, in a language he didn't know he had ears for.

 _I as well, my master,_ She whispered through the fog.

 _I am relieved to finally see your return._

* * *

 **A/N: who else is madly in love with that one character from skyward that everyone fucking hates and has been crying over her cameo and watching memory 17 nonstop? haha relatable, right teens(tm)? ...right? right, guys? ...right?**


End file.
